To Heal What's Broken
by Icywingsoffire
Summary: Harry's abuse has left him torn, but when Draco comes in, he helps the Pain. What will become of this? M for slash, language, and graphic abuse.
1. Bacon

**Warning- This fic contains heavy abuse and graphic descriptions, as well as slash. **

**Disclaimer- All characters, places, and concepts belong to JK Rowling, not me. =(**

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

This time, all Harry did was burn the bacon.

He smelled the burning food before he saw it. That tiny waft of air, carrying the offensive odor to Harry's nose, brought with it Harry's fear. He froze, praying that it was a dream- that he'd wake up in the smallest bedroom of number four Privet drive in a sweat, so that he wouldn't have to face it as reality.

The first blow snapped Harry's head forward. Immediately he fell to the floor, curling up into a tiny ball and trying beyond hope to protect himself from the blows he endured. The words flew, too, and although they used to hurt as much as the fists, now Harry barely seemed to hear them. Everything there was narrowed down to the point of impact of Uncle Vernon's boot on Harry's flesh.

It was worse than ever that day. Harry didn't know why, he only knew that the blows connected with old bruises, and that both old and new wounds were ripped open for fresh rounds of agony. He was bleeding on his clothes and on the floor, which would probably earn him another beating later.

It was hours, or minutes, or days or years later when the Pain stopped multiplying. No more blows, just the devastating aftershocks. The Pain settled over Harry like a blanket, smothering him. It was an old friend to Harry, all that he had ever known.

How many times had he told Dumbledore? A hundred, a thousand, a million times. But the bruises had always faded by September. The scars had closed up. No one believed him, and no one ever would. He was the Boy Who Lived- who could hurt _him_? They forgot that here he was as useless as a muggle, and a scrawny child. Every time he tried to seek help in the wizarding world, they were angry with him for lying. And in this world? Well, Vernon Dursley was a respectable man! He would _never_ hurt _anyone_. Harry was a juvenile delinquent, so he must be a liar, too.

Harry didn't have the strength to cry. He didn't have the strength to breathe, to live. Never had Harry welcomed death like this. This was not a passive acceptance but a desperate plea, Harry begged for death to come, to take him, to save him from the Pain.

How could he live? Why would he live?

A hundred, a thousand, a million times he'd wanted to leave. He'd stood with his hand on the knob, listening to Uncle Vernon dare him to do it, and wanted so desperately to leave this all behind him. The Pain, the beatings, the constant fear. To leave it would be a relief.

But what else could there be for Harry? He knew nothing else, and he had nowhere to go. If he left, he was totally alone in this world.

This was no place of love, but it was Harry's home- or so he was told.

Dumbledore forbade Harry to leave. To leave was to break his mother's spell, so he had to stay, even if it killed him- or worse, he thought, if it _didn't._

And so, a hundred, a thousand, a million times he'd let go of the doorknob and endured the blows that followed.

This was a house, but it would never be a home to Harry.

And then, the blackness swallowed him once and for all.

Harry floated in the blackness. It held him, caressed him, and eased the Pain. And in the darkness, there was a dream.

_He saw a light, and for one moment, he thought that it was death, finally coming to welcome him into its arms. But the light took the shape of a woman- not an angel, but a face that Harry knew well from faded pictures in ancient photo albums. A face that looked nothing like his- except in the eyes._

_Harry's mother leaned over him, an ethereal glow emanating from her skin, enveloping her in a heavenly light. Her eyes glistened as translucent hands stroked his sore face._

"_My Harry! My baby, my child," she began to cry. Tears fell like rain onto his skin, as cool as ice, soothing the ache of the beating. "My son! They have hurt you! They have broken you! My darling baby boy!" She threw her head back with a ghostly wail, and as she wept, Harry felt her tears working magic on him. Like her love shield, they protected him, but not from his good friend death- from the Pain._

_Perhaps this is enough, Harry thought. If I can't have death, maybe this will do. Harry felt a new part of him rising in his breast, a happier boy, a boy that hadn't seen the light of day in 15 years._

_He reached out to her. "No, mother, they have not broken me." With that final whisper, he faded away._

The Pain. A different kind of pain shot through Harry as he returned to his earthly body. Beyond the physical sense, his soul was torn.

He had glimpsed the afterlife, the relief of death. So why was he here? He had seen his mother, and her sorrow had healed him. For one split second, he had been whole- and then he had been ripped back to reality, with its Pain, and its evil, and its unwillingness to let a dead soul die.

His eyes were swollen shut and crusted over-he could not see.

His lips were cracked and bleeding, torn and bitten- he could not speak.

But his ears were free to hear the sounds of the quiet, deserted house. He heard the ticking of the clock, counting off the miserable seconds as Harry's life dragged on without his permission.

And then: a _whoosh_, a cough.

Harry's pulse sped up in fear. His heart worked double-time to pump what was left of his lifeblood out of his veins.

It was him. It was Vernon. He was back to finish the job for good.

Maybe he had some mercy after all.

He whimpered, and waited for the inevitable blow. Where would it connect? His face? His stomach? His groin? It hardly mattered. Pain was Pain was Pain. There was Pain, and only Pain, and all that Harry would ever feel was Pain. The only question was when it would come next.

There was a voice, but not the voice he'd expected. Not the voice from his nightmares that taunted him.

"Bloody hell! Harry! Harry!" Disappointed that death was no longer a guarantee, Harry tried to ignore the voice, to will it away.

It continued to call his name. Or maybe it wasn't his name anymore. Maybe he didn't have a name anymore- maybe he never did. Harry was too tired to care.

The voice persisted, ringing in his ears, calling him from the silence that wanted to comfort him. There was something about the voice that was vaguely familiar, like a fragment of a dream or a long lost memory- never quite there, slipping through his fingertips whenever he tried to catch it.

But he was too tired to try. He was too broken to care.

Then the hands were touching him. And somehow, Harry had enough left in him to flinch at the contact. Not in this house. There was no kind touch in this house. Not here. Here, there was one type of touch: The one that broke you, hurt you, and brought back the Pain. There were no caresses, only slaps, and fists, and kicks.

Again, Harry waited to greet Pain. Pain that never came, at least not afresh. There was still the steady agony, unhealed in this realm as it was in the other.

"Thank Merlin you're alive," said the voice again. Harry wondered what the voice meant. Why would anyone thank Merlin for this? What happiness could be taken from life? Life was only Pain.

"Hold on, Harry! I've got you! Hold on!"

Harry didn't want to hold on. _Let me go!_ He wanted to shout at the voice, whether or not it was in his head. _Let me die here! I can't hold on!_

But the voice couldn't seem to hear him. "I'm going to get you out of here, Harry."

The hands were back, and they tried to lift him into the air, and in an instant Pain returned to torture Harry.

There was only Pain, searing away all traces of love and happiness and thought. There was only the physical anguish.

And the fear.

And hoping, praying, for merciful death to come.

**A/N: Sorry for the heaviness, but you know how it goes- the words choose me, I don't choose the words.**

**Thanks, and as always, R&R, please!**

**Truly yours,  
Rachel**


	2. The Other Draco Malfoy

**Warning- This fic contains heavy abuse and graphic descriptions, as well as slash. **

**Disclaimer- All characters, places, and concepts belong to JK Rowling, not me. =(**

DPOV

The first thing I did when I heard the news about Potter's spell was broken was to run to my room- I didn't even think first. Later, upon reflection, it was like an out-of-body experience, one where someone else took over my legs and carried me up those stairs at a breakneck pace.

I knew I had only minutes to act. As soon as Harry had, for whatever reason, stopped calling that Muggle house his home, Voldemort knew. He sent word to all of his death eaters to gather in the cemetery where he had been raised, father included. Father was so delighted that he told me the news, expecting me to be happy. Sod it, _I_ expected me to be happy. This was the day we'd all been waiting for, after all. We'd finally have Potter in our clutches.

But I wasn't happy- I was afraid.

I could count on my fingers the number of times I'd ever been scared, but this was almost painful. It was that other person inside of me, surely, whose gut was clenching and whose pulse was racing. Not mine.

I locked the door behind me and ran to the chimney, grabbing floo powder as I went. Then came the hesitation, a flash of doubt right before I cast the spell. But I did cast it, shouting as I did the address that had been whispered so many times in this house.

That awful sensation, and then I was in a foreign fireplace, coughing to get the ash out of my throat. My eyes opened and I saw a small muggle living room, immaculately cleaned but poorly decorated. I drew breath to shout for Harry when I heard the slightest whimper coming from the kitchen.

I quickly moved to the entrance, looking to see who had made the noise. I was very aware that every second in this house was a second brining Harry -and me also, as it seemed- closer to death.

And then I saw him.

I had seen dead bodies, emaciated prisoners, rotting hellholes of dungeons with humans in them acting as little more than rat food. I had seen people killed, had seen people under the cruciartus curse, had seen people tortured for days before death came to them. But never, in all of my days, had I seen something as horrible as this.

Harry lay there on the floor, covered in blood that soaked his clothes, flaked on his skin and puddled around him. Scars and bruises decorated the skin I could see, and no doubt covered all that I couldn't. Maybe, if it had been a stranger, I wouldn't have reacted so strongly. But I had known this man, for better or for worse, for years.

At first, I thought I was too late, that the death eaters had already come and gone, killing him in this muggle way instead of with the curse. Maybe to prove a point. Maybe to torture him. Maybe to draw it out for their own pleasure.

"Bloody hell!" I croaked. "Harry! Harry!" _Please_, I thought. _Please be alive._

I tried to rouse him, hardly daring to touch him. I felt for a pulse, hoping, praying, that there was something I could do. When I touched his neck, he flinched, his head jerking away.

I couldn't decide which was stronger : my relief that he wasn't dead yet, or my horror that he was still alive to feel this kind of pain.

"Thank Merlin you're alive," I said, meaning it. It seemed impossible- certainly improbable. But then again, since when did Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, follow the rules of normalcy?

"Hold on, Harry! I've got you! Hold on!" I looked around, hoping that perhaps the answer would jump out and bite me on the nose. What was I going to do? He would die for real if he stayed. He'd probably die if he went.

The other person inside of me, the Other Draco, said that _probably_ was better than _definitely._

Which meant that I was taking Harry with me.

"I'm going to get you out of here, Harry." I quickly but gently slid my hands beneath his too-thin body, attempting to lift him. His whole body spasmed as I stood, and he was limp in my grasp- unconscious now, I knew. Which was all for the better, because what I was going to do was going to be painful.

I wasn't powerful enough to apparate with Harry in my arms- but I could do a portkey. Charming a random vase to take Harry to my safe place, I put Harry down again on the couch, his arm around the vase.

I only had thirty seconds. I quickly cast some spells around, cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, and removing all trace of Harry and my ever having been there. I even spelled the fireplace to forget the last place anyone had used the floo network to come from.

At the last second, as I placed a hand on the vase, I remembered something- Harry's wand. Fearing that it would be too late, I shouted with all of my might. "Accio Harry's wand!"

My fingers closed around the unfamiliar wood just in the nick of time.

Another unpleasant magical transport passed, and I was again relieved that Harry was unconscious. Had he been awake, the rough landing would have made the pain unbearable, even for the Boy Who Lived.

The silence of our destination pressed on my ears, but did nothing to soothe the roaring of my blood in them. There was too much to do, no time to stop for niceties.

My wand was again busy with spells, and my mind hurt from trying to recall the most powerful ones I knew. Dozens of spells, to hide identity, location, and magic use, to prevent tracking and hexing, and to alert me of any creatures- be they muggle or magical.

And when the house was safe, or at least as safe as any house harboring escapees from the Dark Lord's grasp could be, there was Harry to look after.

I was never one for herbology, and I never took an interest in healing. Who needed healing charms when there was St. Mungo's, full of dozens of wizards trained to heal? And who needed St. Mungo's when you worked in a vocation that was nearly always a matter of life or death?

But I knew enough. I knew to wrap the wounds, to staunch the bleeding. I ran for towels, trying to be gentle as I stripped Harry down to his boxers to assess the wounds.

It was worse than I'd feared. Almost every inch of Harry's body was marred, whether it be from a fresh wound or an old scar, and the logical part of me stopped at that for a moment. Old scars don't come from a single vicious attack. They come from a lifetime of them.

But there was still more to do. When the worst wounds were wrapped tightly with towels, I got some warm water. Another towel served as a sponge, gently wiping away the worst of the blood. No, it wouldn't help his pain. But what else could I do? I knew no spells to ease his pain. I knew no herbs to rub on his wounds. All I could do was clean him up.

And pray to Merlin that I wasn't too late.

**A/N: Thank you, everyone, for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! I'm so grateful that there are people out there who are willing to read a story even when it doesn't have a happy beginning!**

**Thanks, and as always, R&R, please!**

**Truly yours,  
Rachel**


	3. Pride, Abandoned

I lost count of the hours I spent waiting for Harry to wake up.

It could have been a hundred, or a thousand, or a thousand, or a million hours, for all I knew. But it was a lifetime to me. A long, desperate lifetime.

Finally, he gave a little moan. It was a sound of pain, and while someone else might have been dismayed that he was hurting, I wasn't. I'd seen enough death to appreciate life in any state. And a moan of pain was nonetheless proof of Harry's life.

He was alive. For now.

"Harry!" I jumped out of the chair I was sitting in and rushed over to Harry's side. He was lying, as still as death -poor choice of words- on the bed in the guest room. At the sound of his name, he clutched at the sheets, his cracked, bleeding lips moving, trying to speak.

I was at a loss for what to do. I had no experience in nursing anyone back to health. Hell, I couldn't remember ever even putting a bandage on someone, much less helping them survive such savage wounds as these. What the hell was I supposed to do now that he was awake?

Harry took a shallow, shaky breath. "Who?" he asked, though I could barely make out the whispered word. It was the question I wanted to ask him, but in a very different context. I knew what he meant, and I dreaded the answer I'd have to give him.

"It's Draco. Malfoy," I answered reluctantly. Why would he trust me, of all people? He'd always hated me, and always would, no matter how little animosity I had for him in reality. So I was pretty sure that hearing my name after he'd just gotten the shit beat out of him wouldn't be comforting.

His eyes opened a crack, and his dull eyes focused on me. "Please, donurme."

I tried and failed to decode the message. "What?"

A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye. "Don't. Hurt. Me." His words, and the clarity that they were delivered with, obviously cost him. He gasped for breath, and beads of sweat formed at his temples.

"Wh-? No, I'm not going to hurt you, Harry. I saved you! I just want to help," I said quickly.

He looked unconvinced, his eyes shining.

"Let's uh, see how you're healing," I said awkwardly. I moved to lift his shirt, aiming to take a look at the worst of the wounds- the ones on his torso. But as my hand moved towards him, he cringed away from me, eyes swimming in pain as he did.

I jerked my hand back as if I'd been stung. I was confused- how could I possibly have hurt him? I hadn't even touched him.

The gears began to turn in my mind. First he asked me not to hurt him, and then he cringed away from my touch, even when I only meant to help. Obviously, he saw me as a threat. Even though I hadn't been the one to physically hurt him, he was afraid of me. He, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was afraid of _me_, Draco Malfoy, a comparative nobody.

I'd heard of it before, in… abuse victims. Was Harry an abuse victim? It made sense. I'd seen the old scars. It wasn't the first time he'd been beaten. But at the same time, it _didn't_ make sense. He was fucking _Harry Potter._ Who would abuse _him?_

Something was going on here, something that was more than met the eye.

"Harry," I implored gently. "You have to let me help you. I swear I won't hurt you. If you don't let me help you, you will die."

He clearly didn't believe me. "People lie," he said coldly.

The part of me that was still logical wanted to ponder those words, examine their meaning. But the bigger part of me, the part that was probably proof of a multiple personality disorder, pushed the words aside to concentrate on more pressing issues.

"Who do you trust to help you, Harry?" I asked. If he couldn't trust me, then I could make do. Someone else would probably do a better job, anyway. It was in my nature to do everything myself, yes, but given the situation, I would quell my pride and accept help on his behalf. "A doctor? A professor?"

Harry thought for a long moment. "Hermione," he said finally.

Great. Out of the millions of people in the wizarding world that would have been more than happy to help him, he had to choose Granger. There was no love between us –there wasn't even civility- but if I couldn't touch him, and she could… I would suck it up and deal with it for a while.

The easiest way to contact her would have been through those muggle communication devices, the… telephlegm or something, since she was probably staying with her parents in the muggle world. But I'd never learned how to use the damnable thing, so I decided to use the floo system, hoping that she'd turned seventeen and lost the trace.

Unsurprisingly, she seemed surprised when my face appeared in her fireplace. When I could see, I saw her sitting at a tiny kitchen table with the muggles, eating something I couldn't identify. She looked at me with her mouth hanging open in the most idiotic way, and it was almost comical how plain the shock and disbelief were on her features.

And then she realized whose face it was staring at her.

"Malfoy!" She gasped, standing and pointing her wand at my head. Her parents gasped in echo and their eyes darted back and forth between the two of us: their daughter with wand at the ready, and the face of a young man made of flame in their fireplace. Again, almost comical.

"Put your wand down, Granger. Do I _look_ like I'm going to hex you?" I asked impatiently. As if I had time for this petty nonsense, with Voldemort on the hunt and Harry lying on his deathbed right down the bloody hall.

She wanted to retort, I could tell, and the need for self-defense battled her curiosity on her face. Eventually, her curiosity won out, and her wand hand lowered. I noticed, however, that she kept a firm grip on it still, no doubt ready to whip it back up and hex me into next week if she felt like she needed to, for whatever reason.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" She asked suspiciously.

"To speak to you, quickly. _Alone_," I emphasized, looking pointedly over at the still-gaping muggles.

Granger slowly turned to nod at the gawking pair. After a moment, the man stood, taking the woman by the arm and leading her from the room. They looked back over their shoulder one last time before disappearing into another room.

"Alright, then, they're gone. Now start talking."

Yes, I was stressed, and yes, I had been acting a little out of character for a while. But there was enough of the old Draco left in me to rise to the bait offered by the tone of her voice. "Merlin, Granger!" I exclaimed. "No need to be rude! I gave you the courtesy of a floo call instead of apparating in, and all you can do is be short with me? And here I thought I would come to you for help."

That got her interested. I, Draco Malfoy, never asked for help. She raised a disbelieving eyebrow at me. "And why would I help a slug like you?" she asked, venom in her voice.

"As much as appreciate your attempt at flattery, you won't be helping _me_." I watched as she was visibly reeled in by the suspense. Time to go in for the kill.

"I don't need your help. But Harry does."

"What did you do to him?" she snapped angrily, and I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. She had proved that she had a temperamental streak before. I had a crooked nose to show for it, too.

"Me?" I balked. "All _I_ did was save him!"

She took a step forward. "Is Harry alright?"

I spoke the truth. "No, he's not. Which is why he needs you to come and help him, Granger. Believe me, I wouldn't be here if there was another option."

She looked at me long and hard. "How can I know I can trust you? How do I know you're not lying?"

"You don't," I said. "But think about this: If you don't come now, and I'm telling the truth, Harry will die. Not for a little while, and not from something as apparently easy to evade as a killing curse. He will die like a muggle, alone and without help. Only you can save him, Granger."

Mother always said I had a face for politics, and I could see how right she was in the way that Granger's anger melted away to be replaced by concern. I had won her over, just like that.

She swallowed. "I'm in."


	4. Because

**Warning- This fic contains heavy abuse and graphic descriptions, as well as slash. **

**Disclaimer- All characters, places, and concepts belong to JK Rowling, not me. =(**

Granger came through the fireplace into my house with a nervous expression, like she expected a horde of Death Eaters to pop out of the floorboards and eat her or something. Not that I blamed her- if I'd been in her situation, I probably would have thought the same thing. I _am_ the son of a notorious Death Eater, after all.

"This way," I said, heading for the bedroom door.

Granger grabbed my arm. "What's going on?" She demanded. I saw a dangerous glint in her eyes as she spoke with quiet force.

I thought about how to phrase it best (that is, how to say it without her flipping out) and then decided to throw caution to the wind and just say it as concisely as possible. "Voldemort found out that Harry stopped considering the muggle house his home, and so ordered an attack with him at the head. I heard about it from my father and went there to warn Harry. I found him… It's bad. Somebody did a real number on him and I brought him here and he's safe for now but he won't let me touch him so I asked him who he would let help him and he asked for you."

Her eyes were wide and suspicious by the time I caught my breath again. She obviously didn't like having to rely on my word, but there was a strange acceptance in her gaze, as if she knew something that had only yet to be confirmed in her mind. With only a further nod, she allowed me to take her to the room where I had laid Harry to bed.

She gasped when she saw him- and rightfully so. Even with the sheets covering his torso and legs, the extensive damage to his face and arms alone was enough to make anyone's stomach churn. Including mine.

"Harry!" Granger cried. "What happened?"

Even I could see the fear that flashed in his eyes. Not of Granger, or even of me, but of a non-present third party. He was afraid that whoever it was would come back for more.

"I fell," he said through gritted teeth. It was almost comical, how stupid that line sounded, coming from him in such a state. Stairs could bruise, cut, and maybe break teeth or an arm. They did not beat you viciously over a period of years and give you injuries like broken ribs and internal bleeding.

Almost comical, but not quite.

"Like hell you did," Granger said, surprising me again with her quiet insistence. "Who did this to you? Harry, was it-?"

I sorely wanted to know what she meant. It was obvious that she at least had a hunch who was responsible, which wasn't fair. If she knew, she would tell the authorities, and they would face the law.

Personally, if _I_ knew who they were, they would be beaten so close to death that they would know exactly what Harry had gone through not only tonight but for the past few years, by the look of things.

But there were bigger things at stake here.

"Granger," I said. "Believe me, I would love to know who's responsible more than you know. But I called you here to help him. Can you do that or should I call someone else?"

She turned on me, and I saw a retort poised on her lips. But after a second, she swallowed it, turning back to Harry. "You're right. No, I can do it. Harry, this may hurt, but I'm going to need to see the worst of your injuries, okay?"

And see them she did. It took her an intense hour of spellwork to get him to moderate health. She was trying to be gentle, I knew, but a blind man could see that it was costing Harry dearly to lay still and endure it as she murmured spells to repair his broken bones, stop all of the bleeding, and fight off infection.

The ribs were the worst. Harry's back arched in pain, his face going white as he cried out. I had to bite a knuckle to stop from reacting. He was in agony, and I could do nothing to help him. It was infuriating, having to sit here like an idiot while he was going through hell.

That hour seemed to last an eternity.

Finally, she was done, and Harry lay in a semi- conscious state on the bed. Granger stood to leave and Harry protested, looking between her and me with a pleading look that was like a knife to the heart. But she insisted that she had to go, so Harry settled for her promising to return and relented, slumping into the pillows.

Granger motioned for me to follow her as she gathered her things and moved towards the door. I obeyed, following her into the hall and shutting the door softly behind us. I led her to the living room, thinking that she would be wanting to use the fireplace to floo back, but she stopped me halfway down the hall, wheeling around to peer up at me intensely. "What the hell, Malfoy?" She asked, hissing at me in the flickering light.

"I didn't do anything, Granger, so don't even start!" I said, trying to keep my voice low despite the emotion swirling in my throat. "I told you, I found him that way! I'm doing my damnedest to keep him alive and _safe_ until he's well enough to take care of himself!"

"I know you didn't do _that_," she practically snarled, "but the house of a Death Eater? You really think _that_ is the place to keep him safe? Don't pull that bull with me!"

"He's not here, though, is he? I haven't sold out Harry to Voldemort! No one even knows about this place- I bought it myself as soon as I was seventeen. And I've spelled it so thoroughly that even Dumbledore would have a hard time finding it! So don't sit there and try to tell _me_ what safe is!"

She stepped back, eyes flashing with anger and disbelief. "Why are you doing this?" She asked, her voice dropping with the gravity of this all- important question. "Why are you helping Harry?"

"Because I'm in love with him!"

As soon as the words left my mouth, seemingly of their own accord, I felt faint and nauseous. They were not my words, not something I'd thought to say. They were a reflex, a knee-jerk reaction to a stressful situation. They were an excuse to do something noble without people thinking twice.

Right?

Granger looked as shocked and confused as I felt. She looked at me, mouth open, moving her lips as if trying to form words but seemingly unable to say what she was thinking.

That made two of us. _"Obliviate,"_ I said, watching as the memory spell hit her in the chest and her eyes glazed over. "Go home, Granger," I pleaded, hoping that the stupor the spell caused would be enough to make her obey.

It seemed to work. She walked to the chimney with a confused look, climbed in, and a few words later, she was gone.

Leaving me alone with my thoughts.


	5. Scars

**Warning- This fic contains heavy abuse and graphic descriptions, as well as slash. **

**Disclaimer- All characters, places, and concepts belong to JK Rowling, not me. =(**

I had never been more confused in my life.

Ever since I'd spoken those few final words to Granger, I hadn't really been able to shut my brain up. It kept dwelling on what I'd said to her, refusing to let me move on. I felt trapped by those words somehow, like they were a contract I'd signed.

Because, see, they were completely inaccurate. I wasn't gay. I'd _known_ poufs, sure, and the wizarding world was a lot more accepting of them than the muggle world, as far as I'd heard. But that didn't even matter, because it was completely beside the point- I wasn't a pouf.

The very idea was scoff-worthy. Draco Malfoy, Slytherin extraordinaire, son of Lucius Malfoy- the Dark Lord Voldemort's right hand Death Eater- _in love_ with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Golden Boy of every witch and wizard? Outlandish! Malfoys and Potters had known each other for generations, and had feuded for just as long. Malfoy boys did not fall in love with Potter boys. Malfoy boys did not fall in love with _any_ boys.

But.

The little voice inside my head nagged at me, insisting that I think about this, refusing to let me forget the whole situation. I could have just moved on- after all, the only person that had heard me say that was Granger, and after the memory spell, she wouldn't remember coming to my house at all. So letting the whole thing go _should _have been easy. I _should_ have been able to dismiss it for what it surely was: a slip of the tongue.

Perhaps a Freudian slip?

No, no. Not possible. There was no correlation between a spur-of-the-moment statement and my subconscious thoughts.

Because really, why on _earth_ would I be in love with Harry freaking Potter?

That was the wrong question to ask myself. All at once, reasons began to flood my mind, Pushing at each other for my attention. Because he was smart, and funny, and brave, and good-looking. Because he was the most powerful wizard in the world, and everyone with half a brain knew it. Because he was truly modest, and honest to the core, and genuinely good-hearted. Because how could anyone in their right mind _not_ be in love with him?

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

I was in love with Harry Potter.

I slid to the floor, unable to draw sufficient breath. For a full minute, I sat, unmoving, unable to process this revelation and all that it entailed. Did this make me gay? Have I always felt this way?

What comes next?

The questions kept coming, filling every available space in my head until I felt like I was about to explode, but I had no answers to silence them with. This was too new, to scary, too shocking to understand right now.

I clamped down on my thoughts, thinking of nothing. I refused to let these questions overwhelm me, to rule me.

They would have to wait. I would find answers sometime, but not now.

Suddenly restless without knowing why, and unable to sit on the hallway floor any longer, I slowly stood up and started pacing down the dimly lit corridor. I didn't know where I was going, but as if my feet knew where I hadn't yet admitted that I wanted to go, I gradually found myself walking past Harry's door.

With my heart in my throat and my blood rushing through my veins like fire, I turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped inside.

He was tangled up in the sheets- asleep, though not peacefully. Some nightmare lingered in his mind and on his lips as he murmured something that I couldn't understand. He was curled on his side, in the fetal position, wrapped around himself as a thin sheen of sweat covered him and his dreams took him away to some darker place.

Someone else would have said that he looked like hell, but I don't think that he could have looked any more beautiful if he'd been on a beach at sunset. He was as gorgeous as ever, even in the throes of battle with his inner demons.

I sat in the chair by his bed. That chair, once so insignificant to me, was now the center of my daily life, the place where I always wanted to be. It was the place where I was closest to Harry, where I could sit near to him and watch as he lived on. I wished that I could sit there for an eternity, forever content to sit by his side, always silently supporting him through his struggles.

I just watched him for a while, seeing as the pain etched across his face faded away, and looking on as the nightmares drained from his mind, at least for now. Soon, he was sleeping peacefully in that bed, wrapped in the linens, looking for all the world like a raven-haired angel.

This new part of me, the part that would never let him go, ached to reach out and touch his face. To trace his jaw with my fingertips as I murmured that everything that would be alright. To hold him when he woke up, wrapping his frail form in my strong arms and letting him know that I would never let anyone hurt him like that again.

Damn, I was falling fast.

But there was still the scared little kid inside of me, the one who wanted to pretend that none of this was happening at all. To turn away, to take the easy route, to avoid the confusion of love by running away from it altogether.

And there was the part of me, the logical part, which remembered the fear in Harry's eyes as he looked at me. That part wept, but knew that even if it meant I would never touch him at all, I would never do so while it caused him any discomfort.

So I sat on my hands and watched him sleep.

The train of thought opened a whole new can of worms. Even if I could come to terms with the fact that I was… that I was now… that I had… that this was all really happening, there was still Harry to think about- or rather, what his wishes were. He wasn't gay, either. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that he had dated the Weasley girl a while back , and rumor had it that they weren't just holding hands at dinner and studying together in the common room. Which wouldn't have happened if he was gay. So this was all a moot point, really.

Or was it?

The gears began to turn in my mind. Maybe I was new to all of this, but logic told me that nothing was impossible, even with the human factor to consider.

To an outsider, my feelings for Harry were just as much as an impossibility as any feelings he could possibly have for me would be. I mean, I'd dated dozens of Slytherin girls at Hogwarts, several of them for long periods of time. And what's more, I'd enjoyed dating them. I'd liked touching them and kissing them and being around them. That wasn't imaginary. I'd really felt that way.

And now I really felt that way about boys. No, that wasn't right- not all boys. Just Harry.

If that was the case, and I was now quite certain that it was, then maybe this point wasn't moot at all. Sure, it was unlikely that Harry Potter would turn out to be a) gay, and b) interested, but there was a glimmer of hope for me.

My mind began to drift, imagining what might come of all of this. Harry would realize that I would never hurt him, and would trust me. Then we would become friends, just like him and Granger and Weasley. But then he would realize that he wanted more. One day, I would ask him out on a date, and he would say yes. I would take him to Hogsmeade, where we would drink butterbeer or firewhiskey and talk for hours. Maybe I would hold his hand then, taking him for a walk around town. And he would grow cold, so I would give him my coat to fend off the chill. And then, it would be late, so I would take him home, and end the night with a soft peck on the cheek. On the mouth, maybe. Maybe not so soft.

Again, I clamped down on the thoughts that were whirling around in my head. I refused to watch him sleep while having dirty thoughts.

They could wait for later, when I would feel less pervish about it.

I marveled at how fast I was falling for him. I'd always thought that true love, if it existed at all, would take years of growth before it got to this point.

But I had known Harry for years. I'd been around since we were both little kids with chips on our shoulders and something to prove. And maybe, even if I hadn't known it, I'd been falling for him ever since day one.

The object of my thoughts was sleeping more peacefully now, and some motion had thrown back his head. His hair had been flung back from his forehead, and now I could see the lightning scar that graced the alabaster skin there. It was bared to me in slumber, the one scar on his body that anyone but me knew about.

It was funny how this one scar, which a week ago I would have said represented the most horrible thing that had happened to him, was now almost insignificant to me. Yes, it caused him pain, but compared to his other scars, this one now seemed like a lamb among lions.

I found myself staring at the ominous mark. Everyone knew about it. It was a thing of legend, even. Wizards and witches argued hotly over what it meant, and scholars wrote volumes about how it came to be. That scar was a badge of celebrity to everyone. It was what made Harry Potter the most famous wizard in the world, and what made everyone love him.

Except for me.

Yes, that scar carried meaning. What Harry had overcome for the last seventeen years of his life was represented by that tiny mark, and it was a tremendous thing to represent. It was a burden that was enormous, and I didn't contest that. But what I loved him for had nothing to do with that scar. I loved him because of who that scar and its burden had caused him to become. Because of that scar, he was brave, and bold, and honest, and he sought righteousness and truth instead of revenge and power. Because of that scar, he was a better man than I could ever hope to be.

I did not love that scar.

But I did love the man beneath it.

I knew that once he was recovered, he would have many physical scars, as well as emotional ones. And thanks to the magic that we all possessed, if he chose to have the ones on his body removed, and the emotional wounds suppressed, he could have it done.

But if he let me, I would kiss every scar on his body with a thousand sweet kisses. I would shower him in those kisses, telling him how much I loved him. I would tell him that they didn't matter, because he would always be in my heart. I would tell him all of this a thousand times a day, maybe a million times a day, if he would let me.

_I love you, Harry Potter._


	6. Undisclosed Motivations

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was that the curtains before me were absolutely hideous. Not just distasteful, or even just ugly. I mean, these were barf-colored drapes that made _me_ want to barf.

And then I noticed Draco Malfoy.

He was sitting in a chair by my bed (which wasn't mine at all), and looking at me in a peculiar way. It was a gentle look, like a caress with the eyes, focused on my forehead. It seemed to take him a second to register that I was awake.

"Harry!" He said, blushing for seemingly no reason. "How are you feeling?"

I was about to say "like shit," since about half of my days were spent in such a state. But then, I realized that except for a lot of soreness, I felt better than I had in a long time.

"Oh," I said, surprised. "Did you-?"

Draco shook his head. "Granger. You had me call her, remember?"

And suddenly, I did remember. I had woken up in this bed, in utter agony, with Draco by my side. He had been tense, upset, and he had scared me. Vernon was the worst when he was upset. Draco had been trying to help, but his voice made me afraid.

I told him to call Hermione. She had been my friend since the first day of school, and was one of the few people who believed me when I told them about how he … about what went on every day on Privet Drive. Ron knew too, but Ron wasn't the wizard you wanted in this type of situation.

Plus, Hermione was a girl. Maybe it was irrational, but these days I felt much more comfortable around women. They were smaller, and softer, and no woman had ever hurt me- yet. I knew Hermione would never hurt me.

She had healed me, which had been agony, but I knew it would get better if I could endure some pain now. It wasn't _the_ Pain, just pain. And that I could handle, if it meant waking up like this, so much… better.

Which brought me back to the present. Draco was still looking at me, waiting for my answer to his question. "Oh, yeah, I remember." I swallowed the growing lump in my throat. "Thanks," I managed.

He smiled, and I realized that I wasn't afraid of him anymore. Why? Had he changed? Ah, but he had. He was relaxed now, softer, less intense. He reminded me less of Him that way.

"Where are we?" I asked, grasping for a straw of normalcy in this sea of confusion.

"My house," Draco replied.

I stiffened, ignoring the ache it caused. "Your father-"

"Not my father's house, _my_ house. He isn't here. He doesn't ever know this place exists," he assured me.

I relaxed a little, although I was still confused. "How did you find me?"

Draco got a very reluctant look on his face. "I was at my father's house, and I heard that Voldemort was leading an attack on you. I… I came to warn you, and I found you like…" He trailed off, apparently unsure what to say about my condition, "…like this."

I knew I should be afraid, to hear that I was being hunted once again. But the news barely added to the ever-constant roar of fear and tension in my brain. "Voldemort?"

"He can't find you. This is the Fort Knox of the wizarding world." Draco's voice was gently pleading with me, begging for me not to be afraid. I couldn't will away the apprehension in my gut, but I'd spent my entire life hiding what I felt. I could push it down for a while, so I did.

"Why did you help me?" I asked.

His eyes went wide with surprise, and for a moment I thought that he wouldn't answer. But then, blushing, he managed to mumble something about it being the right thing to do.

I continued to search his face, looking for what had made him blush. I saw only compassion in his eyes, something that he'd never shown for me before- at least not to my face.

"Thank you, Draco. I owe you my life," I said, and I meant it. I couldn't remember much about the last few days, but I had a feeling that if it weren't for Draco Malfoy and his strange, undisclosed motivations, the Chosen One would be deader than dead.

Draco blushed again and waved off the comment. "You've saved everyone's asses enough times to make it even. Besides," he said after a moment's hesitation, "I couldn't have let you die."

"Sure you could have," I said. "You're in a lot of danger right now just being near me. It would have been better for you to have left me for dead." As I said the words, I heard the truth in my own voice, and I felt intensity grip me. "You should leave. Now! No, you stay, I'll go." He needed to be safe. I needed to make him safe.

So I attempted to stand, quickly rising from the bed to make my way to the door. Unfortunately, I forgot that I was about as sturdy as a wet robe. Clumsy and weak as I was, I couldn't stop myself from falling to the floor before I was halfway across the room. I braced myself for impact with the floor, but instead I only felt strong arms wrapping around me from behind.

Draco pretty much carried me back to the bed like the total invalid that I was. Once I was laid back down again, my breath ragged with overexertion from the very short excursion, he sat next to me with an inscrutable face.

"That was incredibly stupid, Harry," he said, his voice thick with intensity. "You'll be hurt worse if you pull any more stunts like that."

There it was again, my body betraying me. My mind knew that he was only showing his concern for me, but my body, repeatedly hurt by another man's anger as it was, responded to his voice without my permission.

My breathing sped up, as did my heart beat. My arms and legs began to tremble, and my stomach clenched. My eyes, wide with panic, were locked on the emotion in Draco's.

I watched as his face turned into a mask of shock and horror. "Harry? What's wrong?"

I forced my jaw to unclench long enough to answer. "You're angry." I managed, fighting down the nausea that the panic attack brought me. "Please- don't-."

His face fell abruptly, and he dropped his face into his hands, hiding his expression from me. I watched as his body relaxed, the anger draining away, and I felt my own body doing the same. The panic eased away, until only the slight tremble of my body was evidence of the attack.

Finally Draco looked at me, regret etched all over his face. "Harry, I am so sorry. I didn't know, I-"

"It's okay," I said, cutting him off before he could work himself up again. I was quickly learning that anything that got him into an unstable state had my mind thinking he was going to snap and hurt me. "But," I continued after a moment, "I think that if you're going to get upset, you shouldn't be around me." I didn't know how long these panic attacks would last, but I didn't want to have any more if I could help it.

Sorrow and pleading sunk into the lines of Draco's face. "I don't want to leave you," he said to me.

_And I don't want you to leave,_ I thought, knowing it was the truth. The calm, concerned side of Draco was one I'd never seen before, but it was also one that comforted me. It was just the _upset_ Draco that I wasn't sure I could handle.

"If I promise to stay calm around you, can I stay?" he begged, as if this weren't his house and it wasn't his call in the end anyways.

Even if it wasn't useless to refuse him, the hope in his eyes would have swayed me anyway. I couldn't refuse him. "I'd like that," I said.

Happiness lit him up, and he seemed to radiate joy at my acceptance of him. As I studied him, I noticed that now, with a smile on his face instead of his usual trademark Malfoy sneer, he was actually quite handsome. Not in a classic way, but in a pale, unearthly, almost ethereal way.

What a strange thought to have.

"You have to promise me that you won't try to walk again until Hermione says it's okay, Harry," Draco said, keeping his voice measured and calm.

I nodded my agreement, although secretly, I still thought he was better off with me far, far away.

For now, though, all I could do was wait.


	7. Let Him

**See, look how good I'm being :) Updates two days in a row- you can't say I don't love you ;)**

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

The next morning when I woke up, Draco was still by my side. After our agreement, he had moved back to the chair there, but in his slumber his head and arms were on the bed while the rest of him remained in the chair. It looked almost as if he had been unable to make up his mind about where to sleep.

I noticed again how good-looking he was. His face was relaxed now, free from the worry that plagued him when he was awake. His near-white blonde hair fell across his eyes, making me think back to when we were just children, and Draco had tried to befriend me. I'd been a little afraid of him and his abrupt manner. But maybe, if he'd smiled, and looked as sweet as he did now, I would have agreed. And maybe we would have been friends long before now.

Were we friends? I caught myself wondering if this was in my head. I still didn't know why he had saved me. Perhaps it was only out of a sense of duty to "the Boy Who Lived", and he had no real affection for me at all. I mean, he'd hated me for years, since we were both kids trying to prove ourselves in the big, bad world. Why would that all change now?

But no, I'd seen the look in his eyes. He cared whether I lived or died, even if I didn't know why.

"Harry," he murmured, still asleep, and smiled. I smiled too, knowing that as he dreamed of me, he was free from the hatred I'd always thought he'd had for me.

There was the cutest little dimple on Draco's face, and it made him look so soft and childish that before I knew it, I had reached out and stroked his face with my fingertip ever so slightly.

He woke with a start, and I jerked my hand back. "Oh," I said, trying not to give him enough time to figure out what had woken him. "You're up. That's good. Could you maybe call Hermione and see if she can come now?"

Draco looked extremely dazed, and his hand rested on his cheek where I'd touched him. "I had a dream that you… never mind. Hermione, yes, I'll go get her." He rose and exited, walking off his morning stiffness as he went.

I was sad to see him go, but I waited patiently for about ten minutes until he returned with Hermione in tow. She looked at me in concern.

"Oh, Harry, are you alright?" she said, perching on the edge of the bed. "Draco told me that you fell down some stairs and got banged up."

I'm pretty sure that if blood could run cold, I'd be the Antarctic. This was not normal. Yes, I'd _told_ Hermione that I'd fallen down stairs, but she hadn't believed me. And she'd known, or at least guessed, that it was Him that did this to me. But now she was forgetting it all, and buying the most bullshit story that I'd ever told? Something was very, very wrong here.

Behind her back, Draco made a series of strange gestures. After a moment, I figured out that he was trying to signal me to go along with it. I relaxed only a little. Hermione being weird like this put me on edge… but then again, I owed Draco my life. If he wanted me to follow his lead, I trusted him with that for a little while.

"Err, yeah. I'm alright, though, just kind of sore," I said, lucky that Hermione was being dull today- she could always spot my lies from a mile away.

"Of course you are! I know just the spell for it," she replied. "Draco, could you give Harry and I a few minutes alone?"

Draco nodded and left. Hermione watched the door until we heard his footsteps fade away.

"Men are such idiots," she said, rolling her eyes.

"What?" I said, shocked. "I didn't mean for this to happen! It was an accident- I fell, remember?!"

She smiled at me like you would smile at a child who is being a bit slow. "Not you, Harry. _Draco_." Her mouth puckered in disapproval of my savior. "As if I would actually step foot in his house without charms against magical influence of the mind!" she scoffed.

"What?" I said again, staring stupidly at her.

"I know!" She exclaimed. "He tried to erase my memory, and now I have to pretend to be stupid all morning."

I still didn't get it. "Why would he try to erase your memory?"

Her face fell. "I don't know," she said quickly.

"Liar," I accused. She may be able to see through me pretty easily, but it was more than mutual. However, I decided to let it slide- for now. "You said you knew a spell…?"

She got right to work, casting charms on me that made me feel better immediately. I was still weak, but the soreness that I'd felt yesterday had receded a lot.

Now she just sat beside me, looking at me intently. "Harry," she began, and I knew where this was going. "You have to tell someone. Vernon will keep at it until you stop him."

I winced at His name. The fear it introduced to me and the frustration of having had this conversation a million times before caused me to lash out at my old friend.

"Like I haven't tried before? Dammit, Hermione, you _know_ how hard I've tried! But they don't believe me! And what evidence do I have?"

"Tell McGonagall, she'll believe you!"

"Not without proof!"

"Then… we'll get you some veritaserum. They'll have to believe us!" Hermione already had defeat in her eyes, though.

"You know she won't break the rules for a student, especially not me," I said, finishing the conversation. "It's alright, Mione. I'm out now, and he won't find me."

If she was a liar, than so was I. I didn't believe my own words. I felt fear constricting my throat, betraying my words. He would find me. I could run, and I could hide, but in the end, I would never be safe, because He would be there to hurt me once again.

Hermione called me on it. "You don't believe that, Harry," she said. "And now you have Voldemort to worry about. He's looking for you, and he won't stop until he finds you."

As if I needed to be reminded. My stomach roiled at the thought of being on the run from two men as terrible as these. I would never be safe, not really, until they were both dead. The permanent kind of dead, that is.

Hermione sighed, and even attempted a cheerful smile. "But that's for later. For now, you need to rest, and regain your strength. And I think that this is the place to do it."

I looked at her in surprise. "You trust Draco, even when he tried to spell you?"

She thought about it. "I don't know that I _trust_ him exactly, but I don't think he'll hurt you," she finally said.

"Why not?"

Again, she took her time in answering. "He seems… particularly invested in your welfare now."

I studied her face. Years of looking at it made it almost as familiar to me as my own, and I read it like a book. "What do you know about Draco that I don't?"

The moment that followed seem to drag on for hours as Hermione took the longest pause yet. I could see the gears in her brain churning, making decisions and picking out each word carefully. Finally, she took a deep breath.

"Draco is in love with you, Harry."

For a moment, I just lay there, silent, absorbing what she had said. It definitely hadn't been what I'd expected. And then, the pieces started coming together.

The reason why he'd saved me. Why he'd wanted to know who was responsible for this so badly. Why he'd swallowed his pride to call Hermione. Why he didn't want me to be hurt or afraid. Why he was by my side every minute of every day.

Draco Malfoy was in love with me.

I had never thought about any boy in _that_ way before, and certainly never Draco Malfoy. So the thought of him feeling that way ought to have disturbed me, or at least unnerved me.

But strangely, it didn't. The more I thought about the whole situation, the stranger the surge of affection I felt for him grew. He had risked his life for me, and was continuing to do so, all because of love.

"Oh," I said, unsure what to say or do.

"I probably shouldn't have told you that," Hermione said. "That's why he cast that spell- he told me last night."

"I had no idea," I said.

"From the look on his face, I don't think he did either." She stopped to consider. "Today he seemed more… relaxed. Like a weight was lifted off his chest."

Could it be that the realization hadn't been abhorrent to him, but rather… liberating?

"So… what do I do now?" I asked Hermione.

"Well, you should stay here and heal. As far as Draco goes, you're on your own, but…" She went to leave, stopping with her hand on the knob. "I think he just wants to keep you safe, Harry.

Let him protect you."

**Okay, so I realize that this on the "cute" side, not really very "awesome". But I will make you a guarantee: the next chapter is… pretty damn mind-boggling. In fact, if you don't like it, you have no soul. It's AWESOME. Actually, the next two will be posted simultaneously, because they're the same thing in DPOV and HPOV. Remember: **

**Next chapters= mind boggling= having a soul= REVIEWING THIS CHAPTER.**

**Please and thank you :)**

**Truly Yours, **

**Rachel**


	8. Letters to Harry

**So, I'm really motherfucking pissed that I lost the draft to this chapter. It was going to be the best yet. But I guess when you drop a story for like 2 years, you have to deal with the consequences… hopefully this rewrite is as good as the original would have been!**

I could hear Harry and Granger talking in the bedroom down the hall. Part of me really wanted to know what they were saying, but I knew that Harry wouldn't want me to invade his privacy. A lack of privacy was one of his least favorite parts of celebrity, so I knew he would value it here.

When Granger finally emerged, I only nodded, thanked her, and saw her off by floo before returning to Harry. He looked deep in thought. His eyebrows were knit together in the middle, and he bit his lip softly. I had seen the face before, when a spell or a potion we learned about was just a little too elusive for him.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

He looked up, as if he hadn't noticed me entering. He blushed a little, probably because he'd been so deep into his own little world. "Yeah, everything's alright. I'm just thinking."

"Knut for your thoughts," I said, sitting in my chair.

I could tell that he didn't want to say. "I'm just worried about being found." I could hear the double meaning and the half-truth in the statement, but decided to let its meaning slide- for now.

"It's not gonna happen, Harry," I said, trying to reassure him with my eyes. "You're safe here." _I would die before letting anyone hurt you._ After a moment's hesitation, I added, "I'll protect you."

I saw his eyes grow wide, and for a moment I was afraid that my intensity had triggered one of his panic attacks. But then I saw that it was only surprise in his eyes.

"Promise?" he said, and at that moment, I think I would have promised him anything.

"Harry James Potter, I will always protect you, no matter what," I said gravely, meaning every word. It was a promise that I would never break, because every fiber of my being demanded that I honor it.

Harry had become the center of my universe.

He was looking at me with a mix of pride and wonder. Most likely he just thought I was joking. After all, who basically pledged their life to a guy they had a few classes with?

I blinked, and the gravity of the moment was gone, a brief memory to reflect upon.

That day, Harry was restless. So together, we attempted a short walk down the hall. Hermione had explained that the spells she'd used drew on Harry's energy, which would leave him weak and tired for about a week or so.

The journey, however short, was taxing on Harry. But he insisted, saying that if I didn't help him now, he'd sneak out when I fell asleep, and damn the consequences. I told him I'd hex him, and he told me he'd love to see me try. The determination in him made me feel at once worried for his health and proud of his strength and perseverance.

So we set out down the corridor, with Harry's arm around my neck and mine about his waist. I tried to quench the feeling that the touch gave me, a strong urge to claim him as my own. It felt almost wrong, it felt so right. Like I was taking advantage of him by feeling this way about him, and drawing such pleasure from what he saw as something innocent.

We reached the end of the hall and turned around, making it back before Harry fell into an exhausted slumber, snoring ever so slightly.

In the afternoon, we sat and talked. Nothing too heavy, mostly about Quidditch and classes back at school. He seemed to relax more and more as the conversation went on, the normalcy acting as a balm to his wounds.

Eventually, night fell. I waited until Harry fell asleep before allowing myself to drift off. I was tired, more tired than I was willing to admit, thanks to a combination of stress and being unable to move myself from the chair by Harry's side.

But I did sleep. And I dreamed.

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

_I was in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, standing at the head of the Slytherin table. There was no one else there, but there were plates of food all over, half-eaten, as if all of the students and teachers had left in a hurry. I looked around, searching for signs of life._

_There, my father, standing on the head table. "Draco, my son. Welcome to your feast!" He was gnawing on a piece of meat, raw and dripping rivulets of blood down his pale arms. _

"_My feast?" I asked, though I couldn't hear my own voice. "Father, where is everyone? Where has everyone gone? Where has Harry gone?"_

_In a second, my father was before me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, Draco, he's gone. You've killed him for good this time."_

_The Great Hall swam in and out of focus. I could no longer tell what was up, or down… But I saw a door open, behind my father. I knew that harry was right there, if I could just get through that door. I pushed past father, and found myself running up stairway after stairway, until I thought surely I would die if I took another step. But I was at the door to the owlery, and as I threw it open-_

_There was Harry. On the floor. In a puddle of his own blood. As I watched, dozens of owls swooped in through the window, dropping letters on top of him. As they landed on him, they burst into flames, and I could see his flesh, burning into charred flakes of black. I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. I tried to move, to shield his body with my own, but there was nothing I could do, father was holding me back now. I struggled and fought, but all I could do was watch as letter after letter burned through Harry's body, all addressed the same:_

_To: Harry Potter  
From: Draco Malfoy, with love._

_It was my fault, I sent him those letters. I was responsible, it was my fault, all my fault, I was killing him, I was killing him, I WAS KILLING HIM-_

_Harry screamed._

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

I woke with a start, unsure whether to be relieved that it was only a dream, or horrified that Harry _was_ actually screaming. He was tangled in his sheets, thrashing and screaming the most blood-curdling scream I had ever heard- and I had heard more grown men scream than I cared to remember.

"Harry!" I leapt up and reached out to shake him awake. To hell with not scaring him off- I'd rather him wake up to me touching him and have me hate him forever than stand by and watch him feel this kind of pain for one second longer.

He sat bolt upright, eyes still jammed shut, thrashing wildly as if the devil himself were trying to get at him. I wrapped my arms around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides as he rocked against me. His elbows rammed into my ribs, nearly knocking the air out of me. He threw his head from side to side, smashing his skull into mine and drawing blood, desperate to fight me off, desperate to free himself from whatever demon plagued him.

"Harry! Harry! HARRY!" Finally, with a jolt, he woke up. I could feel it immediately, in the way that he cut off mid-scream and froze, completely still. I jerked away from him, but he caught my arm.

"Draco," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, I thought you were-"

"I know," I said. He looked at me for a second, eyes wide with apology and the dredges of fear leftover from the nightmare. Then, without warning, he was sobbing- huge, painful, moaning sobs that racked his whole body. But what was more shocking was the way he clutched at me, burying his face in my shoulder.

He wanted me to comfort him. I, who was dangerous for him to be around. I, who he barely trusted. I, who was secretly pining after him, despite all of the horrible things I'd ever done to him. It didn't make any sense.

But if I could have this one moment, I would take it. So I wrapped my arms around his frail body, held him as close as I dared, and prayed to anyone who would listen that this wouldn't be the last time.

**If it's not as good as the original, it's pretty darn close. The next chapter is HPOV of this same encounter… reviews please? I'll BE YOUR BEST FRIEND. **


	9. Under the Stairs

**Like I said at the end of Chapter 8, this is the same scene, but Harry's side of it. I hope this is every bit as moving for you to read as it was for me to write. Enjoy!**

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

Hermione left me with a weight on my chest and a load on my mind. It was enough to worry about Him, and about Voldemort, without having to sort through emotions like these, too, but here I was. In Draco's house. Draco Malfoy, who was in love with me.

The one question that kept spinning around in my head was _why?_ Why on earth did he love me? All these years, he'd tormented me. Betrayed me, insulted me, and belittled me and my friends… Why now? What changed?

What could I possibly possess that would bring someone like _Draco_ to someone like _me?_

A moment after Hermione left, the door opened, and I was standing (well, not literally) face-to-face with someone that might as well be a stranger to me. A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if he'd just witnessed something that only he would think was funny.

"Everything okay?" He asked, and I realized that I'd been staring at him, as if I could somehow drag the answers out of him if I looked hard enough.

I blushed, hoping he hadn't been able to read my thoughts on my face. "Yeah, everything's alright. I'm just thinking." _About you. About why you love me, and why you haven't told me yet._

He sat in the armchair by my bed, the same one he was in day and night, and cocked his head as a boyish smile played on his lips. "Knut for your thoughts."

_Like hell I'm telling you._ "I'm just worried about being found," I replied. Not quite a lie, but not really the truth either. Let him think I was afraid of Voldemort. The fewer questions he asked, the less he would have to know about everything that was irreparably wrong with me.

There was a flash in his eyes, but even my panicked brain could tell that it wasn't anger. "It's not gonna happen, Harry," he said, and his eyes drew me in and wrapped me up. "You're safe here." He paused, swallowed. "I'll protect you."

I tried to hide the shock that I felt. Hermione's words rang in my ears from just moments before. _"I think he just wants to keep you safe, Harry. Let him protect you."_ Damned if she wasn't right. Not that this came as a surprise- it was Hermione, after all. But to hear him confirm what I'd barely dared to hope-

"Promise?" I asked, barely enough air in my lungs to carry the word.

He, too, seemed short of breath, as it caught for a moment before he spoke. His voice was lower suddenly, and it seemed that both of us were on some other planet, where it was just us, and everything we said had its own, enormous gravity. "Harry James Potter," he said, and the words had never sounded sweeter, "I will always protect you, no matter what."

I wasn't sure whether to believe what his eyes told me- that he was talking about more than just right here and right now- or what I knew had to be true- that he was just a nice guy doing the right thing. Either way, it was obvious that I was safe here.

Here, with Draco.

Emboldened by the moment we'd shared, I demanded that I be allowed to walk down the hall. And by demanded, I mean I coerced Draco into agreeing to help me. I could see that he was reluctant, but I knew that I could do it. Hell, if he was there to help, I was pretty sure I could have defeated Voldemort with my wand hand tied behind my back.

So he wrapped an arm around my waist- my stomach flipped at the graze of his fingertips, despite the fact that I told it not to- and started walking. I could feel his heart pounding at the place where my arm, draped around his neck, touched the side of his throat.

Immediately I felt guilty. He must feel terrible right now. To be in love with me, not knowing that I knew, trying to hide it… But his body didn't lie, and I knew that this little walk meant more to him than just a step to recovery.

If we were being honest, it meant more to me, too.

I took a nap, and when I woke, Draco was right there. He didn't press me for the truth about how I got hurt, and he didn't scold me for overtaxing myself. He just talked to me, made me feel normal- something I never got the chance to feel. I was never normal, I was either The Boy Who Lived, or I was a punching bag.

Eventually I drifted off to sleep. Surely, I thought, with an afternoon like that, I would have sweet dreams, of Draco, and of life without fear…

I was horribly wrong.

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

_I was back at number four Privet Drive. Even if I had been blind, I would have recognized it. It smelled of fear, and anger, and blood. I would never forget this place._

_I stood at the bottom of the stairs, and I found myself walking not to the smallest bedroom, which had been my bedroom since my Hogwarts letters had started to arrive, but to the cupboard under the stairs where I'd spent the first decade of my life. Those were better days- not good, but better. They were before. Before He started drinking. Before He got so angry. _

_I opened the cupboard door, and there were more than spiders and dust bunnies waiting for me. There, among the rags I'd been given, was Draco, smiling like a small child. He waved to me, delighted to see me. I crawled inside with him, and shut the door, and a little happy light started in my chest, despite where we were. If Draco was happy, everything must be okay, right?_

_A thundering came from above us, and my stomach dropped right through the floorboards. Him. I scrambled out of the cupboard and slammed the door behind me. Maybe if I came out here, neither would have to know about the other. He wouldn't be able to hurt Draco, and Draco would never have to know what happened to me. _

_There He was, storming towards me, in a rage. His great hands wrapped around my throat, and he was going to strangle me, kill me once and for all, right there in the hallway. It's for the best, I told myself. I won't have to worry anymore once I'm dead. _

_But my eyes, of their own accord, kept glancing at the cupboard, even as the life drained out of me. I could see Draco's eyes, peering through the slots in the vent, and I couldn't help but want to look into their gray depths, if that could be the last thing I'd ever see. Stupid, stupid me._

_He turned around. "Oi, who's in there, boy?" He roared, and His face was redder than ever. "Who are you hiding in there?" He dropped me, and ripped the cupboard open. There was Draco, still smiling sweetly at me, oblivious to the danger. Run, I tried to tell him, get out while you can. But there were no words. _

_And then, my worst nightmare._

_He picked up Draco and buried his fist into the space between those beautiful eyes. Over and over again, he struck my Draco, and Draco started screaming. Stop, he screamed. Stop hurting me, please. Stop, stop, Harry, make him stop, please, stop, stop, HARRY-_

_And I tried to get to him, to save him, but there were arms around me. I could feel coldness creeping into my bones, and I knew that it was Voldemort, knew that he had figured out a way to get to me- if he couldn't kill me, he could kill my soul._

_He could kill Draco._

_The more I struggled, the tighter he held me, and I thrashed and screamed and cried with all of my might, because Draco was calling my name and I had to help him, I had to save him, it was all my fault, all my fault, ALL MY FAULT-_

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

I woke with a scream.

I was not in number four Privet Drive. He was not beating Draco. There was no Voldemort, but there was someone holding me. I froze.

It was Draco. Draco was holding me, here, in real life, in the darkness of the bedroom. I felt him start to pull away, and as he withdrew, I felt everything start to crumble again. I grabbed his wrist.

"Draco," I whispered, my throat aching as though I'd been screaming for real. Maybe I had been. "I'm sorry, I thought you were-"

But I didn't have to finish. "I know," he said, and I could barely see the light reflecting off of those beautiful silver eyes.

And he did know. I could feel it, feel the understanding in his words. There was pain there, pain for me. It was all I could take. The horror of that dream, how real it felt, how I felt as though my heart was being ripped from my chest at the sight of Him laying a hand on Draco… it was all too much.

Sobs racked my body, and for the first time in my life, I didn't stop to think about the possibility that someone would hurt me. I clutched Draco close to me, breathing in his scent, still sobbing so hard that I thought that I might rip in half. I needed to feel that he was here, that he was safe, that no harm had come to him, or ever would.

And he let me hold him. I, who was fucked up beyond repair. I, who would never live up to what everyone expected from me. I, who was scared of every shadow. It didn't make any sense.

But if somehow, against all odds, he loved me… and if, in some mysterious way, he would let me cry in his arms, and hold me like he really meant it, I would take it. As his arms wrapped around me, I thanked God, or whoever was out there, for giving me this one chance at something truly beautiful.

**Oh, lordy. I'm so glad I came back to this. I don't even have to edit this stuff, it's just raw emotion. I adore these characters, and I absolutely CANNOT wait to keep writing this. Reviews, please? :) I'll be your bestie, forreal though.**


	10. Bruises

DPOV

I couldn't see Harry's face in the darkness, but perhaps that was for the best. In the middle of the night, when your senses are deadened and all you have is your mind, free to wander, anything is possible. In the darkness, there aren't moral complications or consequences. There is only the feel of your body, and that moment, and that place.

And when that moment is holding the man you love in your arms, against all odds and all impossibility, only that darkness can make it feel possible. "Draco," he whispered.

The sound of him saying my name put a lump in my throat. "Yes?"

"Don't leave."

If I felt like choking before, I was definitely choking now. "I would never!" I exclaimed, forgetting to keep calm for him. Even the idea of leaving this moment with him, or of leaving him period, was horrifying. I would never leave, unless he looked me in the eye and commanded me to. He was my whole world. If I left him, how would I live?

"I mean right now. Don't…. Can you just keep holding me, maybe?" As his voice trailed off into a whisper, I'm fairly certain my heartbeat trailed off into nothing.

It seemed like an hour before I remembered how to inhale, how to speak. "If you want me to, I will," I whispered back, and I felt that mess of raven hair move up and down against my shoulder as he nodded.

I could feel him shifting-laying down on the bed, on his side, facing away from me. For a moment, I was frozen, still sitting upright. My heart had remembered how to beat again, and it was making up for lost time by pounding away, threatening to break my ribcage open and run free. Then Harry turned to look at me in the darkness, light reflecting off of the emeralds of his eyes. "Draco?" he said, tugging on my arm. Hardly daring to believe my own senses, I lay down behind him and wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him close to me.

I tried to turn my brain off. The heat of his body, the smell of sweat on his skin, his fingertips still loosely wrapped around my wrist… Every place where our bodies touched was like fire, or electricity, or something else that's beautiful and painful at the same time. It was bliss because I loved him, it was agony because he didn't love me back, and I wouldn't have traded it for the world.

... ….. ….. ….. …..

HPOV

There is no place as secure as in the arms of the one you love.

And I did love him. If you had asked me a few hours ago, I wouldn't have know what to say, but here was the answer, so plain that I must have been blind not to see it. As he lay there with me, his arm across my body and his warmth enveloping me, I felt so peaceful, so- dare I say it? Happy.

I probably laid there for hours, not sleeping, just concentrating on the way his chest expanded and deflated against my back. There seemed to be a thousand more nerve endings wherever we were touching, because they were all alive and screaming at me. It was probably for the best that it was dark in that room, because he would have seen the smile curling on my lips as he held me ever closer.

Eventually, I must have fallen asleep, because then it was dawn, and sunlight was trying to push on my eyelids and make them open. I arched my back in a stretch, less so that I could wake up and more so that I could make sure that Draco was still-

He was gone.

"Draco!" I yelled, sitting bolt upright. He wasn't in the bed, he wasn't in his chair, where could he-

Just at that moment, he burst into the room, looking disheveled. "Harry?" he asked, breathless. "What is it, what's the matter?"

For a moment, I couldn't answer. He was a vision, even in a state of disrepair. His pants, unsupported by a belt, hung a little too loosely on his hips- was he losing weight?- and I could see the edge of his boxers. He wore a shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a torso so chiseled and pale that he could have passed for a marble statue of some Greek god. His hair was uncombed, falling in pale locks over his eyes as he stood before me.

"Harry?" he asked, gently this time, walking towards me.

"I didn't know where you were," I replied, now absentminded. I reached out a hand and ever-so-lightly traced the line of hair down his stomach with my fingertips. I was fairly sure he wasn't breathing. His skin was so soft, so smooth…

It was then that I saw the marks.

All up and down his sides, great purple bruises were forming. I looked up at him, mouth agape, "How did you-" And there, hidden by his hair, a small cut, with dried blood crusting around the edges.

A stone formed in my stomach and tried to pull me down through the floorboards. Gray started to color the edges of my vision, and a dull ringing took over my mind. "How did he find you?" I whispered, horrified. I didn't give my mouth permission to say that. I should not have said that. I know it didn't make any sense, but all I could see in my mind's eye was Him hitting Draco over and over again as I watched, unable to move.

"What? No!" I couldn't read Draco's face- somewhere between mortification and guilt. "It was just an accident. From last night, when I was trying to wake you up. It's nothing, really, I swear," he pleaded.

Why was _he_ pleading? _I _was the one that hurt _him_, not the other way around. I should be the one begging. Begging for forgiveness. _I had hurt him, it was my fault, I was responsible, just like in my dream, my fault, all my fault, my fault my fault my-_

I could feel the panic rising in me, choking me and freezing my limbs. Draco rushed to the side of the bed and grabbed my hand, looking straight into my eyes. "Hey, Harry, it's okay. Look, I'm fine. See? I'm totally fine. I'm alright." My vision was going black, and I knew I should breathe, but I couldn't, my lungs weren't listening. "Harry? Harry. Harry, stay with me. Breathe in. Deep breath in." He mimicked the action, and I could feel my lungs trying to expand, struggling to drag in a few wisps of air. His thumb stroked my hand where he was holding it, and somehow I managed to keep drawing in air. Little by little, as he continued to murmur reassurances to me, I found that I could breathe again, see again. My whole body trembled.

"I am _so. Sorry,_" I whispered, and I could feel a tear sliding down my cheek.

Draco's free hand twitched like he wanted to reach out and touch my face, but he didn't. Instead he drew away from the side of the bed and, not making eye contact with me, began to button his shirt. "Don't worry about it. You fight like a girl, Potter. Although maybe I shouldn't say that, considering that one time Granger tried to break my nose…" When he did turn to look at me, his smile was so forced that even I could see right through it. "Speaking of Granger, I should go get her. You stay here, alright?"

And without a glance backwards, he was gone.

My head reeled. What had happened? What had changed? Last night, he had held me in his arms as I fell apart. Now, in the morning light, he wouldn't even look at me.

But I knew why. He had seen enough. Had enough. Now he knew what he was avoiding before- the fact that I was too broken, too fucked up, to be loved. Whatever feelings he had once had for me would be gone now, and he was probably thinking how he could get rid of me. I had seen it coming, had known deep down that he could never love me for long.

I didn't even have the energy to wipe away my tears.

**This was heavier than I expected it to be, more angsty. And a cliffhanger, too! Why is Draco so changed? What will Harry do? Is this the end of the world's best pairing?! You'll have to wait and find out. Ah well. The next chapter is action-packed and highly emotional, I'll tell you that much. So leave me some reviews, pretty please? :)**


	11. As Awful As They Say

DPOV

I shut the door behind me and slid down the wall with my face in my hands. Everything was moving so fast. There he was, having a panic attack because he elbowed me in his sleep, and all I can think about it touching his face, wiping away his tear…

"_What the fuck is wrong with me?"_ I growled, resisting the urge to put my fist through the drywall in frustration. "What kind of sick bastard can sit there and think about touching a man who has no feelings for him when that guy is having a _fucking breakdown_?" Tears welled up in my eyes, and my jaw clenched in self-hatred. I couldn't stand this; I couldn't stand pretending not to love him. I was taking advantage of him when he was so broken, and it was _disgusting_.

I had seen the look of confusion on Harry's face, but I needed to walk out of that room because I knew if I stayed I would have said something, or done something, that would have been disastrous. Every second I stayed there, secretly pining after him, was another second that I should have been leaving him in peace. It wasn't my place to be by his side, because he didn't want me in the same way that I wanted him.

"Fuck," I moaned. But I did love Harry, and that meant doing what was best for him. So I dragged myself up the wall, ribs protesting every move- not that I would ever admit to Harry how sore I was- and over to the fireplace. "To hell with courtesy," I mumbled, jumping right into the fireplace and shouting Granger's address as I did so.

I tumbled out into her kitchen, and immediately felt out of place. "Hermione, is that you, dear?" A woman's voice called from around the corner. Before I could reply in the negative, she entered the kitchen and shrieked, dropping the glass she was holding, which shattered onto the floor. "Good heavens!" She exclaimed.

"Sorry, sorry," I stammered. "Please, let me get that," I said, waving my wand at the shards, which immediately gathered themselves and created a brand new glass for her. "Sorry," I said again. "I uh, I didn't mean to startle you, it's just- is Hermione home?"

The woman continued to stare at me with her mouth slightly agape. "You're the boy whose face was in our fireplace," she said. "The one Hermione went with."

"Yes, ma'am. She's helping me with a situation with, er, a mutual friend," I said, wishing that I were anywhere but in this kitchen with Granger's muggle mother.

"Are you as awful as she says?"

I had to laugh a little. "I'm afraid so, although I'm trying not to be," I told my feet, unable to look this woman in the eye.

"Well," she said slowly, "Hermione should be home any moment now-"

Just then, Hermione walked through the back door. She looked confused. "Bloody hell, Malfoy! What are you doing in my kitchen, talking to my mum?"

"I, uh, just stopped by to see if you were free to help me with, er…"

Her eyes pierced my brain, which was a scary concept. "Yeah, I'll be right there." Without stopping to see what she said to her shell-shocked mother, I turned around and floo'd back to my house as quick as I could.

God, muggles were awkward.

I heard, rather than saw, Granger come through to my side of the network. "How's he doing?"

I sighed. "Physically, he seems to be getting better. But emotionally, he's pretty fucked up." I paused, wondering how much I should tell her. "He's having horrible nightmares. He's not sleeping, and he keeps having panic attacks," I confessed.

"Oh?" she said, eyebrows raising in mock surprise. "I thought he fell down stairs? What's he got to have nightmares about if he fell down some stairs, Malfoy?"

_Shit._

One look at my face and Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot. Your memory charm didn't work on me, Draco. I remember what you said, and I know that it wasn't stairs that did that to him." She started to walk away, towards Harry's room.

I swallowed the lump of dread in my throat that had formed when she said she remembered everything I'd said. But that wasn't what was important. "Oi," I said, catching her arm. "What do you mean? Do you know what really happened?"

She didn't meet my eyes. "I have my suspicions. But if he hasn't told you, it isn't my place to say."

I took a deep breath and counted to ten, trying not to be angry with her. It took some reminding to myself that she was trying to protect Harry, not whoever hurt him, before I could accomplish a semblance of calm.

"Fine. Will you be alright to watch him for a little while?" I said through gritted teeth.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Why? Where are you going?"

"Nowhere," I shot back. "I've got shit to do." Taking it that she wouldn't leave Harry alone, I made my way towards the exit.

"Draco," she called after me, and I turned back to look. "Don't do anything stupid."

She didn't sound like she meant it.

**I know I promised action, but this bit turned out a little longer than expected, so I'm breaking it off here. That's a good bit of Draco angst and even some humor, right? But where is Draco going? You'll find out when I post chapter 12, in which I PROMISE there will be action. PLEASE REVIEW. It makes me sad that you don't :'( **


	12. I Was God, I Was Justice

**Before we begin, I need to clarify a few things. This is set in the summer between Harry's 5****th**** and 6****th**** years, so he's 16. In this world, everyone except for Harry has already turned 17, Voldemort is at large, and Dumbledore is still alive. Some people commented about the spell regarding 4 Privet Drive already being broken, but in my story, it was broken before he turned 17 because the abuse caused him to stop calling it home. **

I landed my broom two streets away from Privet drive. Under a spell of invisibility, I moved quickly but quietly on foot towards the unobtrusive house that I'd rescued Harry from just 3 days ago. 3 days that felt like a lifetime.

I rounded the corner and felt like the bottom drop out of my stomach. Every window of number 4 was busted out. Half of the building was charred, as though someone had started to burn it down, but the fire didn't quite have time to finish its work. Gaping holes appeared in the lawn, and I could see all types of dead animals littered around the now-disheveled home. The houses on either side remained pristine, against all odds, though number 4 seemed one stiff wind away from demolition.

Voldemort had been here.

I could feel his spells on the property from across the street. Powerful magic, to notify him the second a witch or wizard arrived. Luckily for me, Voldemort never did value my skill. I was a lot more powerful than anyone gave me credit for- certainly powerful enough to disarm his magical alarm system.

There was a sickening feeling that lingered around the property, like a bad odor that you could never quite manage to scrub away. The door, which hung from its hinges, featured a hole in it the size of a hippogriff, though I doubted a hippogriff had anything to do with it.

"Bloody hell!" A fat, red-faced man was roaring at no one in particular in the living room. "Look what they've done! It was your bitch of a sister and her no-good son whose fault this is, no doubt about it!" A woman wailed in response.

I crossed the threshold and watched, still invisible, as the couple stood in their destroyed house. The man- Vernon Dursley, I supposed- had a flask in his grip, and drank from it every few seconds.

"The fucking freak probably did it himself," Dursley growled. "For 15 years we clothed the bastard, fed the bastard, gave the bastard a place to stay, and he gives us this as thanks? I should have killed the little shit after all."

It was him. _He_ was the one, the one who'd beaten Harry within an inch of his life, left him for dead. _He_ was the one who was responsible for every scar but one. _He_ was the bastard who _dared_ to lay a hand on _my Harry._

Never, in all of my life, had my blood run so hot in my veins as it did at that moment. Right then, I was not Draco Malfoy. I was God, and I was Justice, and I was _pissed._

"Hello, Dursleys," I said, dropping the spell that kept me hidden. I could feel the trademark Malfoy sneer on my lips.

A mix of terror and anger flashed across Dursley's face as he turned redder yet. "Get the fuck out of my house, you freak," he snarled, his voice slurred.

I couldn't tell whether ignorance or alcohol made him so bold, but either way the bravado was a mistake. I got inches from his face. _"What did you just call me?"_

"I. Called you. A freak." His eyes, narrowed in anger, bored into mine.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "And _what_ did you just call Harry?"

Petunia Dursley whimpered from the living room. Dursley took another drink from his flask and practically spat the words at me. "A _shit_. That's what he is. He wasn't fit to _lick my boots_."

Forget magic. I'd kill him with my bare hands.

In seconds I had him pinned him against the wall and was choking the life out of him. His wife started screaming, but stayed where she was. My emotions started a torrent of accidental magic, the floor starting to shake and what few breakable objects remained in the house started to shatter, one by one. The mantle clock started to ring violently, playing a macabre tune, as Vernon Dursley's eyes bugged out, his lips gaping like a fish, gasping for air.

"What the hell gives you the right to talk about him like that? Eh?" I was seething, practically hissing the words. He clawed at my hands, drawing blood, but I held my grip on his throat. "Do you know who the _fuck_ you're even talking about?" I shook him, his head bouncing off of the wall behind him.

I got so close to his face that I could have ripped his throat out with my teeth. My voice dropped to a growling whisper. "Do you get your kicks out of beating up kids? Hmm? Is that what you like?"

I didn't give him a chance to reply. Disgusted, I threw him to the ground, watching as he gulped in air. He was too drunk to even fight back.

"He fucking deserved everything I gave him. He was worthless, the stupidest fucking git I ever-" He didn't get to finish, because my boot connected with his nose and blood started pouring out. He spluttered, choking on the blood. Again, I pulled back my foot and swung it, as hard as I could, into the center of his face. A dark chuckle rose from my throat as I heard bones crack and his banshee-like scream split the air between us.

"Get up," I spat. He didn't move. "_Get up!"_ It took a moment, but eventually he got to his feet, swaying. I shoved him with one hand, watching him bounce off of the wall and try to stay upright. "Say that to my face. Insult him _one more time._" Red tinted everything I saw. I was going to slit his throat, watch him drown in his own blood. I was going to take a brick and smash his skull in, to see whether he even had a brain in that thick skull. I was going to blast his chest open, to see if he had a heart. "Come on! _Say it to my fucking face!"_

Vernon Dursley looked me straight in the eye. "I'll say it. I'll say exactly what a piece of shit he was. He was worthless. I should have killed him the day his _bitch_ of a mother died and he turned up on my doorstep. And if I could, I'd beat him twice as hard as I'd ever done. He doesn't deserve to live, to breathe _my fucking air._ How's that? Is that what you wanted to hear?" He started to laugh, a cold, insane laugh that filled the house and put me over the edge.

My wand was out in a millisecond and pressed into the flesh between his eyes. My body was shaking, rage coursing through me. I could hardly speak through the clenching of my teeth, hardly hear past the ringing in my ears. "Give me a reason not to, you filthy muggle. _GIVE ME ONE MOTHERFUCKING REASON," _I roared.

"I'll give you one," called a voice from the doorway. "Draco, put down your wand."

**Gasp! Who's the voice? Will Draco kill Vernon Dursley? THE SUSPENSE MUST BE KILLING YOU. You know what would make me happy (and therefore, make you happy in turn)? Reviewing :)**


	13. Be the Change He Needs

" '_I'll give you a reason,' called a voice from the doorway. 'Draco, put down your wand.' "_

I knew that voice. And as surprised as I was to meet Albus Dumbledore here, it took all of my strength just to look away from the bloody, dying muggle at the business end of my wand.

He stood just inside the doorway and, in typical Dumbledore peculiarity, was wiping his feet on the mat, though no amount of dirt could further mar the house. "Draco, your wand, please," he said again, but I didn't move. I couldn't move.

"Why?" I growled. My muscles were beginning to ache from the massive tension in them, but I kept holding Dursley to the wall, my wand to his head, because one way or another he was going to die today. "Why should I let this rat take one more breath?"

Dumbledore's eyes were full of sadness and wisdom. "Because you love Harry."

I suddenly felt weak as all of my blood rushed to my head, and my grip on Dursley loosened enough that he slid to the floor with a moan. "What- what are you talking about?" I stuttered.

His small smile made me feel like a first year again. "It doesn't take magic to see these things, Draco. And it doesn't take much sense to figure out that when your father comes barging into my office looking for you the day after he fails to capture and kill Harry, you had something to do with it."

I gasped. "No, I didn't have anything to do with them coming here! I would never-"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Dumbledore laughed. "No, my dear boy, you misunderstand me. I only meant that you had something to do with Harry not being here." His shrewd eyes probed mine. "I assume Harry is safe and healthy at some other location?"

My jaw clenched. "He's safe, but he's bloody sure not healthy."

Dumbledore actually looked _surprised_. "But I thought you had warned him before Voldemort and his death eaters had a chance to come and-"

"It wasn't Voldemort that hurt him," I hissed, and turned to spit on Dursley.

Never had I seen Dumbledore as stricken as when the realization dawned on him that he had been wrong. "That's right," I said. "Harry tried to tell you about this before, didn't he? What, did you think it was a joke? Did you think it was some fucking lie he made up just for giggles? Because it was true! This man- no, this _animal_ has been beating him for years, and you never did _one fucking thing about it!_"

His mouth opened and closed lamely as he tried to process this. "I didn't know, how could I? The Dursleys were never loving towards him, but I never thought them capable of violence!"

"Dumbledore," I growled, "he has scars all over his body. How could you _not know_?"

"They were always faded! I thought he'd just had scuffles with his cousin, or that they were from here at Hogwarts. Draco, you know as well as I do that he has fought more battles than any child should have to- of course he has scars. How could I have known what was really going on-" He seemed to be almost pleading, begging me to understand that it was all a mistake.

"Do you know what it's done to him?" I asked. Dumbledore looked at me, ashamed. "This time, Harry damn near died. Would have died, if I hadn't gotten there when I did. And you can heal away broken bones, but _damnit,_ that's not all that was broken!" I got up in Dumbledore's face, all respect I may have held for him gone. "He wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, he breaks down every time he sees someone angry, he won't let anyone touch him hardly because he's so bloody afraid that they'll hurt him!"

Dumbledore swallowed. "I won't deny that I was wrong, and now that will haunt me until he day that I die. But the point is even stronger now that you cannot kill Vernon Dursley."

"Why?" I seethed. "You haven't given me a damn reason yet."

"Harry has lived a life of violence from all sides. Voldemort, Vernon Dursley… he is surrounded by hatred and anger and death." He paused, looking at me earnestly. "Draco, you cannot become that, too. If you truly love him-"

"I do!"

"I know. _Because_ you truly love him, you have to be the change that he needs. And you can't be that if you kill this man. You would be no better than those who have always wronged him."

I closed my eyes and swallowed. I was so angry. I wanted to hurt someone, maybe myself, just to make it seem balanced. It didn't seem right or fair that Harry should have all of this pain, all of this misfortune, and everyone around him to go on so unchanged. Someone had to pay for it, didn't they? Someone had to face the consequences of what had been done to Harry. Why shouldn't that be Dursley?

"Who pays for it, then? Who pays the price of all of it, then?"

Dumbledore didn't meet my eyes. "We will all pay for it, Draco, one way or another."

I could feel tears streaming down my face. I thought I was in power, that I was in control of Dursley's fate. I thought I could make him pay for the horrible things he'd done… but I couldn't, not without becoming horrible myself. I had to walk away. For Harry's sake, I had to walk away.

I went to Dursley, who seemed conscious enough to at least understand my words. I bent down next to his ear. "If you ever come near Harry again, you're a dead man. That's a promise, scumbag." He nodded, still whimpering.

And then, with crack, Dumbledore was gone, and I walked from the house with my shoulders a little more slumped, my head hung a little lower. All the way home, all I could see was how scared Harry would have been. Scared of me. I couldn't stand it, I couldn't live if I caused him any pain.

By the time I landed outside of my house, I had put on a brave face. Sometimes, the decisions we make in life aren't easy. They hurt us, they haunt us, they make us remember what we'd like to forget. But when you do what you've done for someone that you love with every inch of your being, it makes it worth it. Because love is about sacrifice- putting the needs and desires of the one you love before your own.

Granger waited just inside the door. Wordlessly, she handed me fresh clothes to replace my own, bloodstained ones. As I removed my shirt, she healed the bruises on my side, then the cut on my head. Looking at me, you would never know where I'd been.

I started to walk past her, towards Harry's room, but her voice stopped me. "Is he alive?" she asked. I didn't have to ask who she meant. She would have known, of course, where I was going.

"Yes," I said simply. "Barely, but yes."

She nodded slowly. "Damn."

I pushed the door open and felt my heart flutter as I watched Harry's face light up at the sight of me. "Draco," he said, with a little sigh of relief.

I couldn't help the smile that melted across my face. "Harry," I said. "Did you miss me?"

Harry tilted his head to the side and looked at me. "What were you doing?"

"Oh, nothing much."

**My stomach is all trembly. I know a lot of you guys were concerned about Uncle Vernon- and even Dumbledore- getting their comeuppance. I wasn't sure how this chapter would go until I wrote it. But it just feels right, I think. I hope it satisfies all of you readers, too. Next chapter will be happier, I pinky promise. **

**Leave a review for me, won't you? :)**


	14. Breakfast, on a Typical Tuesday Morning

It had been 5 long weeks since the day I found Harry. Little by little, his strength had returned to him, and soon he was going about a daily routine there in my home. I still hadn't managed to screw up the courage to tell him how I felt, no matter how many times Hermione prodded me to do so.But Slytherins were men of thinking and plotting, not of blind action and so-called 'bravery', like the members of _some _houses I know.

But I was, without a doubt, falling deeper and deeper in love with Harry with every passing day. I was learning more about him, about what he liked and didn't like, about what scared him, about how to be his anchor and remind him where the earth was when he was having a panic attack.

There was so much I'd never gotten a chance to know or enjoy about him when we were younger. The fact that he continued to wear those same glasses- despite their dated style and countless repairs- because they reminded him of a pair his father once wore. Or that he had a sneaky sense of humor, making comments under his breath that you only caught on to later in the conversation. Or even the silly little things, like the way he would shake his head like a dog every now and again to try to get his mop of hair out of his eyes. All of those things that I had never stopped to notice before, had never _wanted_ to notice before, were now priceless to me.

"Draco?"

Harry's voice brought me out of my reverie, and back to the bright kitchen we were sitting in one morning. "Yes?"

"What are you staring at?" He raised an eyebrow at me, and I realized that I had just been sitting there with a dumb smile on my face, watching the way he was chasing those last few flakes of cereal around the bowl with his spoon, looking so much like a child that he couldn't help but be adorable.

"Oh, nothing, sorry," I mumbled, gradually re-entering the reality of just another average Tuesday morning. Not that any day was truly average, with Harry around. "Anyways, today I figured we could- shit!" I swore as a mindless gesture sent my arm sweeping across the table and Harry's glass falling over and smashing on the linoleum. I knelt on the floor to gather the shards, then looked up to apologize.

The sound of breaking glass must have triggered some awful memory, because instantly Harry was staring straight ahead, stiff as a board, unable to breathe in the midst of a panic attack. I grabbed Harry's closest hand in both of mine. "Harry," I said firmly. "Harry, look at me." I reached up and, gently but firmly, took his chin in my hand and turned his face to look right at me. "It's me, Harry. It's Draco. Everything's going to be alright. Come back to me, I'm right here. I'm right here. Come back, it's alright. I'll protect you, okay?"

Harry blinked- once, twice- and started to look as though he were actually aware of his surroundings again. "Thank you, Draco," he said breathlessly, still trembling a little in the aftermath.

"No problem," I responded, and started to pull my hand from his cheek, but Harry had reached up and held it there.

He smiled, a shy but genuine smile. "I love you. You know that, right?

Now it was my turn to go completely still. "You- _what?_"

The smile spread into a playful grin. "I confess my love to you and all you can do is gape at me?" He asked with his best attempt at coyness. He gave a dramatic sigh. "Oh, the way you lead a man on is torturous, Draco. It's a good thing Hermione's less shy about telling me things than you are- otherwise I might not know that you happen to love me back."

I almost didn't know the man who sat before me, playing with my hair and smiling at me with such warmth. "I- uh," I stuttered, trying to remember the words I had practiced countless times in my head, the words that would spill unto him the incredible, earth-shaking, heart-wrenching love and passion that I held for him. But right there, in that moment, I was simply speechless.

He leaned forward and playfully whispered to me, "You don't have to say anything. You can just kiss me, you know."

I may have been kneeling on the kitchen floor among glass shards and a puddle of orange juice, and he may have been a gangly, juice-shattered teenage boy who had just come out of a panic attack, and it may not have been a picturesque moment. But when I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his with my heart in my throat and butterflies in my stomach, it was easily the most perfect moment that anyone could ever ask for.

"_I love you, Harry Potter."_

_**THE END**_

**Excuse me while I go cry for a minute :'(**

**As much as it breaks my heart to say this- for this has been the most fulfilling and engaging and rewarding fic I've ever written- this will be the final chapter of To Heal What's Broken. I'd like to thank the academy- wait, no, that's the wrong speech. Ahem. I'd like to thank all of my wonderful readers for all of the reviews and encouragement. Sorry for (falsely) claiming that there would be a lemon here! I thought there would be, but the story decided to take a different direction. But this is not the last you'll hear from me! If you haven't already, click the box for Author Alert, and you'll be emailed the next time I post, which will be soon and often. I've got a couple of in-progress fics right now, and still more ideas that are churning around in my noggin (and on my hard drive). So definitely check back with me to read more! I owe something good. ;)**

**ILOVEYOUMMKAYBYE.**


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